Year 266 of Azaria
Autumn, First Month – Zerdilla City
"Please help us, Prince…"
"My child can barely breathe! This crystal is devouring us!"
"My mother cannot even rise from her bed anymore! The crystal is crushing her face! I beg you—save the Qaissaran!"
"Just kill us, Netzaleh! Mad people like you enjoy watching us rot beneath the Sky's crystal, don't you?!"
The voices surged from both sides of Zerdilla's main avenue, chasing Zaden Azaria as his carriage rolled forward at an unhurried pace. Old men shouted with cracked throats. Women clutched children whose breathing rasped like broken bellows. Young faces twisted between fear and hatred, unsure whether to beg or curse.
Despite the escort of dozens of mounted soldiers, the cries only grew louder.
Zaden leaned slightly toward the open side of the carriage, deliberately meeting their gazes one by one. He did not look away. He did not pretend not to hear.
What he saw unsettled him.
There was desperation, raw and unfiltered, stripped of dignity and pride. Some eyes reflected something even darker—relief at the thought of death, as if defiance against a foreign ruler felt kinder than continuing to live while the Sky's crystal gnawed at flesh and bone, day after day.
The carriage continued toward the city hall near the central roundabout, now less than thirty feet away. Hundreds of soldiers guarded the gates, forcing the crowd to remain behind a barrier of steel and shields. The Qaissaran could do nothing but scream toward the building where decisions were made.
When the carriage halted, Zaden stepped down. His dark-blue cloak swayed as he adjusted it briefly, then moved forward on foot.
The reaction was immediate.
Cries intensified. Pleas sharpened into accusations. Some voices hurled insults with reckless fury, born not from bravery, but from agony that had already robbed them of restraint.
Several Kral soldiers bristled. One raised his silver sword halfway, jaw clenched.
Zaden lifted his hand.
"Lower it," he ordered.
The soldier hesitated, then obeyed.
"Do not panic, Qaissaran!" Zaden called out, raising his voice so it carried across the entrance. "Let us speak without bloodshed!"
The command held weight. Many fell silent, though a few still spat curses from the edges of the crowd. Zaden ignored them and entered the city hall.
Inside, he moved quickly with two commanders at his side, passing through wide corridors until they reached the main meeting chamber at the far veranda. Five Qaissaran representatives awaited him, seated around a round table. Green crystal fragments crept across their chins, cheeks, and necks, thicker and more jagged than those seen outside.
They rose, exchanged formal greetings, then sat again.
Any courtesy vanished almost immediately. Fear filled the room.
"It has been a month, Prince," one representative said, hands trembling as they rested on the table. "Without Abimalech's power, we can do nothing."
Zaden studied the crystal growth climbing the man's throat. His own fingers brushed his neck unconsciously, tracing hardened edges beneath skin. Thicker than before. He had noticed it days ago, though he pretended otherwise.
"I understand your anxiety," Zaden replied evenly.
"We can no longer delay," another said. "Our lives are at stake—most of Zerdilla's lives, to be precise."
"I know."
"Then what is your answer?" a third asked. "There is no choice left but Abimalech. It is the only force that lets us survive alongside the Sky's crystal."
Zaden did not raise his voice.
"Abimalech will not shield you from King Jeremiah's anger."
The words froze the room.
Faces drained of color. The representatives exchanged uneasy glances. Pain flared beneath their crystal growths, a constant reminder of how little time they truly had.
"Is this not why we are here, Prince?" one asked carefully. "To seek the King's forgiveness?"
"Even I cannot guarantee your safety," Zaden answered, "if you invoke Abimalech inside Zerdilla."
"Then what do you want from us?!" one man exploded, slamming his palm against the table. "We are dying! Are you mocking us?!"
One of Zaden's commanders half-stood, sword flashing.
Zaden raised his hand again.
"Sit."
The command cut sharply. The commander obeyed at once.
Zaden leaned forward, gaze steady. "What truly matters to Qaissaran?" he asked. "Abimalech's strength? Isaiah's blessing? The Sky itself? Or your lives that are wasting away?"
The question unsettled them.
"Our lives," someone answered slowly. "Especially in a situation this lethal."
"Then why obsess over Abimalech?" Zaden pressed.
"Because it is the only way we know how to live with the Sky's crystal," came the reply.
"What if another path exists?" Zaden asked calmly. "A solution not tied to Abimalech."
"A different path?" one scoffed weakly. "Impossible—"
"I am telling you it exists," Zaden interrupted. "If that were true, what would you choose?"
Silence followed.
Whispers spread across the table. Confusion mingled with cautious hope. Zaden tapped his fingers once against the wood, reclaiming attention.
Finally, one representative spoke. "We are not convinced such a path exists. But we will do anything to preserve our lives, Prince."
Zaden nodded. "Good. Then we understand each other."
"Understand what?" another asked sharply. "What are we agreeing to?"
Zaden rose from his chair.
"To be honest," he said, "I still do not grasp the Sky's intent, nor the true nature of these so-called miraculous fragments. But I know this—we have a choice in how we face it. I will save Qaissaran, yet I cannot do so alone."
One of his commanders frowned deeply and leaned closer, whispering urgently. "Are you certain, Prince? King Jeremiah intends the Qaissaran to—"
"We will discuss this later, Aitan," Zaden cut in quietly, without looking away.
His attention returned to the Qaissaran before him. "So," he asked again, "will you trust me?"
They exchanged glances, doubt plain across their faces. Yet time pressed mercilessly. Pain throbbed beneath crystal skin. Delay promised only death.
"…We understand, Prince," one said at last. "Please act quickly. Our condition worsens by the day."
Zaden inclined his head. "Then wait."
He shook each of their hands, firm and deliberate, before leaving the chamber. As he stepped into the corridor, he leaned toward his commander and spoke in a low voice.
"Summon Querijn tonight to the throne room," Zaden said. "I need to see her there."
The first move had been made.